An Interview With An Inquisitor
by Sable Supernova
Summary: Rita Skeeter interviews an up-and-coming figure in the Ministry, Dolores Umbridge, and sets out to uncover if the stories she weaves about her past align with the facts... Written for The Battlefield Wars. One-shot.


_Written for the Battlefield Wars, for the following prompts:_

 _Headmining Character: Rita Skeeter_

 _Supporting Character: Dolores Umbridge_

 _Plot Prompt: The characters engage in a heated argument RE: one of Rita's stories_

 _Optional Prompts: (word) House / (word) Almighty / (word) Scribble / (emotion) Distraught / (quote) "Kindness is our power, even when fondness is not." - Samuel Johnson / (colour) Lemon Yellow / (colour) Vermillion / (word) Money / (object) Parchment / (word) Clean / (dialogue) "Don't you try and stop me." / (emotion) Shame / (word) Jump / (poem) A Girl by Erza Pound / (word) Frantic /_

 _Also written for the School of Prompts Challenge, for the word: manic_

 _AN: This is slightly AU: The Daily Prophet, in this story, is the The Paper of the People rather than The Paper of the Power as it is at this point in the books._

 _Words: 1743_

* * *

 **An Interview With An Inquisitor**

 _Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and Hogwarts High Inquisitor, sits in front of me in a garish pink tweed coat. She appears to be smiling sweetly, but the nervous tick of her left eyelid and the way she twiddles her thumbs tell a different story. She is scared and uncomfortable, uncertain of what I might uncover. I tell her there's no need to be, and she laughs the notion off. She remains tense._

 _My first question is rather simple. I ask her to tell me about the house she grew up in._

 _Dolores tells us, "I grew up in numerous houses, really. We were always on the move because of my father's job." She gives us a high-pitched giggle before continuing. "It was wonderful, you know, seeing different places all the time. It gave me a deep sense of appreciation for this country. Although, it did make it difficult to keep friends."_

 _Now, before you break out the tissues in sympathy, we have a very important question to answer: was she telling the truth?_

-o0o-

Rita read over her words with a sick satisfaction. She could picture the woman's face already. Making sure there were no silly mistakes, she brandished her wand at the parchment to bundle it all up and sent it on it's way to the printing press, ready for the following evening's post.

-o0o-

 _Your reporter, the ever-thorough Rita Skeeter, went in search of these numerous addresses, in the hopes of providing her readers with a greater insight into the far corners of the land that Dolores Umbridge once called home. I hit a rather inopportune brick wall, however, when the only address we were able to link to the Umbridge family was a little terraced house in Cokeworth, just off Spinner's End._

 _I took a visit to the grim town to try and pick up the missing trail and found the house itself long since abandoned, its chimney sticking out a strange angle while ivy grew around the broken glass in the window frames. The only signs of the former glory of the home was the chipped vermillion paint on the front door._

-o0o-

Dolores paced her living room, distraught with worry. She bit at her lip as her eyebrows drew together, wondering what Rita Skeeter had found. She had buried her past, she was sure of it. But what if… no, she wouldn't think about it. Taking a seat on her velvet sofa, she stared at her William Morris print wallpaper and took deep breaths, attempting to calm herself down. She was Dolores Umbridge, and the truth would never come out, not if she could help it.

-o0o-

 _The path, however, was not a complete dead-end. Inhabitants of the street did remember the family, and gave me some insights and starting points for further research._

 _Before I tell you what I found, let us return to the interview. As Dolores sat uncomfortably under my gaze, I asked her to tell me about her mother._

 _Dolores Umbridge smiled and said, "My mother was a very bright witch, from an old wizarding family. A Slytherin, like me, she rose to great heights within the Spell Damage ward. Unfortunately, her professional life took much-needed attention away from her family, and we are now rather estranged."_

 _Interesting. Very interesting. Now, Dolores, would you tell me of your father?_

" _Oh, yes," Dolores says as she brightens up somewhat. "I followed in his footsteps, you see. When I was a child, we shared the same beliefs. He was a very clean-living man. Very clean. He worked in the Ministry before his early retirement, and held a seat on the Wizengamot, as I do now."_

-o0o-

Dolores could take the waiting no longer. Pulling on her favourite coat - the one Rita Skeeter had described as garish - she headed straight for the Floo.

"Daily Prophet HQ!" she called out indignantly, before promptly arriving in the visitor's lounge. Ignoring the protests of the Receptionist, she marched straight through to the lists, looking for directions to Rita Skeeter's office.

The sudden crash of her office door being thrown open made Rita jump as she took in the frantic expression on Dolores' face.

"Did I startle you?" The High Inquisitor asked, raising her eyebrows as if to feign innocence.

"A little, though I can't say your visit is unexpected," the reporter replied, looking back at the letters on her desk.

"What did you write in your article? What did you uncover?" Dolores questioned, her face turning a shade to match her coat.

"I'm afraid I don't give spoilers," Rita responded lazily.

Dolores walked over to Rita's desk, her back stiff and her head held high, and eyed the blonde woman with utter disdain.

"Pull the article," she demanded, and Rita met her gaze. "Pull the article or dear Merlin won't be able to help you."

"I'm afraid I can't."

"I could ruin you, you know? I could tear you apart, and don't you try and stop me. We'll see who's laughing in the end," Dolores responded, her voice sickly even as venom dripped from her words.

"It's already gone to press," Rita said with a smile, enjoying the manic emotions that danced across Dolores' face.

Pursing her lips tight, Dolores turned and marched out of the office, knowing there was nothing she could do. Rita wondered what other tactics the Ministry witch might try next.

-o0o-

 _Before I tell you, dear readers, of the truth of Umbridge's parents, I must warn you there is no lemon yellow of sunshine and daisies in this tale. You see, while Dolores claims her mother was a Pureblood witch working at St Mungo's, I found the truth to be rather different. Ellen Umbridge, neé Cracknell, was a Muggle. We attempted to track her down, but it seems her and her youngest child, a boy and a Squib, appear to have disappeared from the Wizarding world without a trace._

 _Dolores Umbridge's father proved to be less elusive, and I began the search in the employment records at the Ministry of Magic itself. It seems Dolores was telling the truth about one thing: Orford Umbridge did work at the Ministry before his early retirement. However, rather than finding a prestigious member of the Wizengamot, we found an employee of the Department of Magical Maintenance. That's right, dear ladies and gentlemen. Dolores Umbridge's father earned his living mopping floors._

-o0o-

When the paper hit the shelves, word of the article spread quickly. Rita Skeeter arrived in the office the following morning with an almighty sense of pride. Stepping into her little office, she found a note on her desk, folded neatly, and opened it with apprehension.

"Fantastic article - a real money maker! Good work. - Barnabus Cuffe."

Rita began to feel dizzy as she read the note and took in the signature. Barnabus Cuffe, Editor-In-Chief, recognising her, Rita Skeeter, for her work. Grinning like a fool, she took a seat, waiting for the inevitable second visit of Dolores Umbridge.

-o0o-

 _You know, watching you scribble away like that is rather nerve-wracking," Dolores comments, worrying away at her lip._

 _In an effort to turn the conversation to lighter topics, I ask her, "Is there a special someone in your life? What's your love life like? Are there any juicy tidbits you can share with our readers?"_

" _Oh, I don't have much of a love life," she laughs. "I work too hard. Although, Gilderoy Lockhart, Merlin help him, did ask me on a date in his heyday. We were at a luncheon together and he seemed enchanted by me, I must say. I had to turn the poor fellow down. But love, I think, is a strange emotion. It skews a person's opinion of another to the point where they let that person completely under their skin, like a tree growing within their veins. They let the person influence their every move, their every thought. That, to me, seems very frightening."_

 _Now, my avid fans, you may remember the Daily Prophet motto: "Kindness is our power, even when fondness is not." With this in mind, allow me to show you kindness. I was, believe it or not, present at that luncheon, and here is an excerpt from my old column about this fabled meeting:_

" _The newly appointed Head of the Improper Use of Magic Office, Dolores Umbridge, may regret her actions this morning. She spent the entire luncheon almost draped over the arm of the infamous ladies' man, Gilderoy Lockhart, hanging fondly on his every word. At a loose end, it seemed, Gilderoy Lockhart invited her to the première of the play of his second novel in Diagon Alley's very own theatre. It seemed to quieten her down somewhat, which seemed to please Mr Lockhart."_

 _It seems Dolores Umbridge has as much trouble with men as she does with telling the truth!_

 _Remember, folks, this story was a part of my Mysteries of the Ministry collection, and the next installment will be hitting shelves this time next week!_

-o0o-

Dolores Umbridge walked through the Daily Prophet Headquarters that day hanging her head in shame. She found herself unable to meet the journalists' eyes as she stepped into the lift, knowing she must confront the lying reporter one last time. Stepping into the cramped office, she met Rita's gaze with a quiet fury. This time, Rita Skeeter was waiting.

"Did you enjoy the article?" Rita asked with a sideways glance and a smile, pouring out a cup of tea.

"How dare you!?" Dolores asked, her voice slow and elevated.

"How dare I what? Tell the truth?" Rita questioned, her voice matching the sugar in Dolores'.

"It's lies! Every word of it! And you will pay for it," Dolores promised.

"Lies? Then perhaps you can explain why the records seem to agree with me," Rita suggested with a shrug.

"Why you little-" Dolores began, launching herself at Rita, her left hand finding clumps of hair from her bun and pulling while the fingers on her right clawed at the other woman's face.

"Help!" Rita shouted as she fumbled for her wand, attempting to disentangle herself from the deranged witch.

"You'll need more than help!" Dolores threatened before two reporters ran in and separated the women, holding Dolores back from her attack.

Rita wiped at her face and winced when her fingers came away bloody. She looked at Dolores with a mixture of loathing and pity.

"It seems I have my next story."

* * *

 **AN: Please leave me your thoughts!**


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